Save a prayer for me
by Hell789abdv
Summary: AU: Brendan Brady is a hunter of demons. He was born into it, forged to be a weapon following family tradition. Ste Hay is a half demon, half human with a destiny that could spell the end of the world as it is known. When the two meet neither they nor the demons realise the implications nor the consequences.
1. Chapter 1

This is something I'm not too sure about pursuing. I have the plot for it. It's another ridiculously long complicated slow-slow burner.

I promised myself I wouldn't start another long story until after I had finished Breathe for me but this idea won't leave me alone so I thought I'd post it.

It's AU, and although there are elements of canon.

Summary: Brendan Brady is a hunter of the supernatural. He was born into it, forged to be a weapon to good at it and he is; demons, incubus, lycanthropes, vampires, he's killed them all as well as a few other things. Ste is a half demon, half human with a destiny he was born for, a destiny that could spell the end of the world as it is known. When the two meet neither they nor the demons realise the implications nor the consequences.

Warnings: Violence, guns, mentions of torture

Pairing: Brendan/Ste eventually.

Disclaimer: I don't own Hollyoaks or any characters. I am not making any profit.

This is basically a taster. An intro into the world. See what you think.

* * *

It wasn't meant to happen like this. They were never meant to have the numbers. Never meant to gain the foothold. So many had died trying to stop it. So many lives sacrificed, all for nothing. It was guerrilla warfare rather than a true battle field, one side lined up against another, enemies clear to see even then they would never have the numbers to stand their ground never mind win. There numbers are just nothing in comparison.

The world on the brink of a tidal wave of evil that would wipe all human kind into slavery for the unlucky, or death for the fortunate.

For his entire life Brendan Brady had fought against it, or what seemed like his entire life. Unfortunate enough to be born into a family of hunters, born into the war, fate had decided he would be a hunter like his father, he was the eighth generation.

The Brady's, underground renowned, civilian's didn't even know about them, but the world of knowing the truth they were world famous for their hunting, for their skills, for their ruthless destruction of all things evil that crossed their path.

He had been trained for as long as he can remember, maybe since before he could understand what training was, everything was training. He was beaten and forged into the weapon he was today. His father Seamus was a living legend. Brendan was never good enough, never fast enough, never smart enough to live up to his father. No matter how many times Seamus beat the lessons into him, he was just not good enough, would never be good enough.

He had made a name for himself, he was better than most, more ruthless than the majority of hunters. He had made himself cold hearted, or maybe the hunting had done that to him, he can't remember the last time he cared that he was killing human's as well as demons. Collateral damage was all the rage these days.

"Get some rest Bren." Cheryl, his baby sister spared from the training, spared from the realities of just how bad the world was, spared the beatings because her mother ran with her, away from Seamus, away from the life. She had kept running until the day a demon that Seamus had pissed off had turned his attention on Seamus' family and had decided that weak targets were more fun.

They had arrived too late to stop Cheryl's mother being ripped to pieces, barely got there in time to save Cheryl whose body now bore the scars of that night.

Seamus had handed Cheryl over into his care while he went off to try and avenge, well that was a load of bollocks, Seamus had gone on a crusade and hadn't needed to be held back by his critically ill daughter and his not good enough son. Had gone off to destroy the demon and hadn't been heard of in five years. Not that Brendan missed the bastard, not at all. The life was hard enough, scattered with enough hard choices that he hadn't needed Seamus lording it over him, hadn't needed to be told that nothing he ever did would be good enough.

"Night." He stated and watched Cheryl disappear up stairs. She won't sleep at night, won't sleep when there's no one else in the house. Refuses point blank to do anything but sit behind bolted doors with a .45mm safety off until Brendan's back from the hunt and the sun is up.

"She's right you know." Simon Walker stated sitting down opposite him and unfurling his leather bound roll which held his knives.

"No rest for the wicked." He replied breaking from cleaning his gun to take a mouthful of whiskey.

Simon Walker had been a police officer, weapons trained, specialising in undercover work. He had made the mistake of going after a demon without knowing that was what he was up against, he had assumed it was just another criminal gang, he was wrong. He and his younger brother had been captured and been tortured for fun.

He had blamed Brendan for his brother's death, for not being quick enough to rescue them.

He hadn't known that they were even there. He had just gone to kill the demon and happened upon them. There was no saving Cam. He was too far gone. The torture had broken him. Left him a shell. Within five days of being saved from his cage he had taken one of Brendan's guns and blown his brains all over the kitchen floor.

Walker had gone at him half crazed with grief but he'd managed to hold him off, tie him up and gave him enough time to work out that it was the demon, not Brendan to blame. That it was the demon that Simon should kill, not just the closet target.

Simon and he were now on an even keel or as even as they were ever going to get. They were working together here and there to get the job done when it was more than one of them could handle. Most of the time they worked alone but when they did work together they were a pretty decent team.

"The sun came up an hour ago." Walker points out as he starts to lovingly sharpen his knives.

For being essentially a civilian turned hunter later in life Walker had certainly embraced the lifestyle and the killing easier than anyone else he had ever met. He was still alive after six months which was more than most managed.

"And?" Brendan ask raising an eyebrow. "What does that matter?"

He's got a line on a demon and his minions. Night, day, what did it matter? It might be breaking an unwritten law or three but he's not done. He'll kill as many as he can before the evitable.

He had killed two vampires who had broken the rules and attacked a hunter, killed him, claimed self-defence like they could. Vampires were worthless and no one gave a shit if they were killed, they weren't even worth a reprisal. Hunters were precious, good hunter's valuable and very good hunters invaluable in this war.

Demons though. Demons he had to be careful with. Hunters couldn't go straight to the top, they had to work through the ranks. Kill a high power and the vacuum left behind could destroy a city, even a country. He knew he had to be careful, the demons were already holding too many of the cards, building their ranks by corrupting the souls fallen into Hell, so many to choose from, so many to break and mould. Rise them back to Earth and put them in a body and there was a lower demon to fill the ranks of any of the major players demons that had been around centuries, who had rose through the ranks.

The demons had built an army and it was ready to sweep away humanity.

"You moving on soon?" Walker asked.

He frowned, considered it then nodded a little.

"Can't stay here for much longer." The demons would be starting to notice him, starting to get annoyed, not that he was bothered for himself. Let them come and see how far they got however he had responsibilities and those couldn't just be brushed aside.

"Where to?"

"See where we get to. Cheryl will want to stay in Britain." He wanted to go to the continent and get a real break from the confides of being a big fish in a little pond. Go somewhere that Cheryl's safety wasn't constantly under threat because of him.

"She'll want to stay here." Walker says. "I think I'll skip the tantrum and head towards Liverpool. Carl has a line on some players in the smuggling game."

Cheryl hated the constant moving. She had only just gotten used to this city, made a few friends, gotten herself settled. She would bitch and moan but she would come round.

"When?" He doesn't need Walker for any of what he has planned.

"Couple of days."

He nods.

"Let me know when you're going." He states. He doesn't want to assume Walker left only to find he hadn't. It was always better to know where he was. "Did you get the hollow points?" Walker had said he could get a good deal on the bullets.

"Didn't get any change." Walker pulls out a couple of cases from a holdall and plants them on the table before sliding them across.

He opens them and checks the quality.

"Good enough I'm not going to ask for it." The bullets were worth a lot more than the five hundred he had given Walker.

He reassembles his gun with his usual efficiency and pulls his spare clips from his hunting bag and starts to load them.

"What's the security like on this one?"

"Good." Brendan replied. "But not good enough."

He doesn't need Walker tagging along.

"Try not to have too much fun without me."

He gathers his supplies, checks and double checks his guns are fully loaded, straps a knife to his arm and another to his ankle. Wraps his guns straps around his hips and fastens them to his thighs, his two favourite guns slip into their holsters, his spares to the top of his bag, the full loaded clips slide into the belts that Cheryl had made specifically for the task. He has five grenades if he really needs them. A couple of bottles of holy water for if things get desperate and an exorcism that his father had drilled into him running through his head. If he's using that he's defiantly in dire straits.

He nods to Walker once, pulls of his trench coat that will cover his weapons, slips his hunting bag onto both shoulders, and opens the door, strides out into the back alley behind the house. He waits a few seconds to hear Walker bolt the door and turn the key.

It's grey and overcast, rain not too far off, a little cool but not too bad. He doesn't bother even trying to avoid the CCTV on the main street. One of the demon's police officers could be watching or he could be lucky either way he's a day from leaving, now the decisions made. The demons will watch his movements but it's a likely a mid-level who has no interest in taking out a hunter that isn't coming directly at him.

The people of their way to work ignore him, he's just another weirdo, not even that, just another person that they aren't interested in. He supposes he should care that they ignore him afterall it's him and his fellow hunters that are keeping them in the life their accustomed too for as long as they can.

He doesn't know when the demons are going to make their move but everyone agrees it will be soon. But soon is all relative in his experience. Soon could be a hundred years or next week.

He's the one putting his life on the line time and time again to kill demons that want nothing more than to wipe all the people waking by him out, take their lives, the lives they know and they couldn't give a shit.

He couldn't give a shit about them most of the time. Being a hunter is what he is, what he's been made into, killing demons… Well there are worse things he could be doing with his life.

The warehouse is big and has seen many better days. The rust on the fire escape is testament to it. It creeks and threatens to give under his boots but he needs to use it, walking through the front door may be fun, maybe exactly what he wants to do but sometimes what he wants and what's good for his health are too very different things. Thinking of Cheryl usually stops him being too reckless, too careless with his own life. He doesn't want to die but when he does he wants it to be in a blaze of gun fire staring down his enemy on his terms.

He picks the padlock, so simple, years of practice and it barely needs more than a few seconds to get it to open. The door is rusted, the hinges look on their last legs, it tells him that this is not going to be a silent entrance and he pulls a gun from it's holster because chances are he opens the door and it's going to creek so loud that it's going to give him completely away. It might not. He might be lucky. He snorts to himself, he's never considered himself lucky. He takes a deep breath and takes the safety off his gun, licks his lips, lets the nerves build. He needs the nerves, the adrenaline buzz to make sure he's completely alert. He's lapsed before and he has paid the price. It should be easy to get nervous, he's about to confront an unknown number of demons and or creatures that could kill him in a heartbeat, that are stronger, faster but he's confident he can kill them before they can kill him. Not arrogant, the arrogance had been beaten out of him, he'd bled his arrogance all over his father's shoes once. When Seamus had half stitched him up all he had gotten was that he was stupid and unworthy, an idiot and not fit to be called a hunter, that he wasn't good enough to bare his name and once he was no longer in danger of dying from the rapid blood loss, when it was under control, Seamus had handed him the needle and told him to finish the job himself, that if he hadn't spent so much time training him that he would have left him to die. That was the bit that none of the hunters let themselves think about. Every time he met them it was always how great his old man was, how lucky the world was to have him on their side. They didn't care what kind of man he was, they only cared what kind of hunter. The rest, well that was nothing they wanted to worry about because they'd never had to live with it.

The door does creek, and whine but it isn't as loud as he had thought it might have been. It's dark inside. The windows boarded up, the only light is coming from the holes in the colligated roof. It creates an almost glitter ball effect without the turning. The dust is thick on the floor and in the air. There are big brown boxes everywhere. He's in the storage area. He almost trips over the first demon, lying in a sleeping bag just to the side of one of the rows of boxes. He quickly holsters his gun, he doesn't want the rest to know he's here just yet, pulls the knife from his ankle he lines up and stabs down hard to hit it's heart. Break the connection between the demon and it's host, send it back down to the meat market of hell and make it wait for the next body it's allowed. It'll be back, sometime. But it's gone for now.

He pulls the knife free easily, the body is disintegrating at its normal accelerated rate. It'll be nothing but a pile of clothes with what looks like a mass of vomit in it given a few minutes. The body whether dead or alive when the demon invades, is not designed to hold a demon, centuries or a few minutes it makes no difference as soon as the demon is gone there is nothing to hold the body together and it breaks down into slop.

There is another near the open door leading into what looks like an open area. He stabs it in the heart again. He takes a look out of the door. There are ten of them on the ground floor that he can see, awake and working loading a light goods van with boxes baring the same marking's as those from the room he had just been in.

He steps back and takes out both of his guns, taking the safeties off both. Heart shots, and it has to be a heart shot are difficult to make clean when the chaos descends, when they start running for cover. He doesn't really want to start this from this position but there is no cover.

He drops his bag to the floor, stuffs a couple of clips into the back of his jeans and takes off his trench coat. He needs to be able to move free of restriction.

He picks two from the mental image he has, takes a breath and steps out on the metal gang way to the rail as quickly as he can, lines them up and shoots the two he had aimed for, he misses the left gun shot, he couldn't have been far off but far off may as well be a few hundred miles away. The effect is the same. The demon lives. It's injured but it will heal quicker than any human, it has control of it's host body and it can fix it, it just needs a bit of time to do it. He's not planning on giving any of them time.

The others scatter and he gets a few more shots off, aiming for legs and torso, knee caps if he can line the shot up well enough. He has five down and crawling before he is tackled from behind and slams into the rail which doesn't hold and he and his assailant fall backwards. He pushes the attacker away from him as best he can before he lands heavily on a stack of boxes, it winds him for a second yet the adrenaline is flowing, he doesn't even register any pain, just gets himself clear of the boxes and back on target. The one that tackled him is getting to his feet having hit concrete. Heart shot and it's melting.

The other four have done a runner, he's not following in daylight. There's no way he can get away with shooting anything on the streets not with most of the police force taking bungs.

The five he had shot are still trying to crawl away. He stands over them one at a time and takes his time to kill them, looks them in the eye as they shout poision at him. That they'll be back. That he's making a mistake. That they will rip his insides out and feast on them. That they will make him beg for death. He watches their eyes, all dark silver. He can see them. Years have taught him to look past the mirage and see their true eyes. Silver that gleems when their alive and turns black a split second before their bodies decay.

He doesn't bother looking around the rest of the building. He doesn't know if a civilian had heard the gun shots and called the police. They might not be able to charge him with murder, after all there will be no bodies but he's got weapons on him and they wouldn't think twice about banging him up for that.

He climbs the stairs back up to the top level, shrugs on his trench coat and his bag before leaving the way he came in and locking the padlock behind him.

Less than an hour and five less demons to worry about, Cheryl might not notice he went back out. But then he's never been that lucky.


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for reviewing and following.

Taken a while to get back to this... Realised I've given too much away in the summary but I'm sticking with it for now.

* * *

It took less than a day to move everything in the car he had stolen from an car park. It was dull and boring and perfect for them. Cheryl bitched her arse off the entire time about how they should buy a car and he wasn't going to explain to her, again, why owning a car was a bad idea, that the demons could track their movements, never mind the cost. Christ he had to rob everything he could from the demons and creatures he killed just to make sure they had bullets, food was second on the list.

Cheryl hated the new house. It had been derelict for years from the state of it, not that he cared. It was free and it had a roof. That was all he wanted. He didn't even need it and he had spent many weeks living completely outdoors in the years before Cheryl had made needing a house necessary.

Walker had made Liverpool a couple of days before them and tagged a lead on a player while he had tortured the smugglers. Apparently this demon had a mansion and a guard of twenty. He was a mid level looking to get on the rise. But he was also a soft target. Another demon was in town and he well he was a completely different level. A major player looking to take over. There would be no harm in going after the mid level with the major player in position to take over anyway. There was no way that it would affect the balance.

"I've brought Miller in for this." Walker says leaning against table going over the plans of the mansion. It's pretty complex. He flicked a glance to the lower level, a basement that had a swimming pool in it. There was no way the demon wasn't using it. It was perfect. The only access was from a stair case in the main hallway. Where there had to be a guard. He fucking hated places like this. Too many rooms, too many crevices for guards and camera's. Too much exposure. He didn't like fighting in close confines it was playing into the demons hands. They were stronger, faster on open ground or at least with a decent field of vision demons were easy in a place like this one they had the upper hand.

He didn't like James Miller either. Part time hunter, full time drug addict. He had been good with a gun a few years ago but now he wouldn't trust him as far as he could throw him, even though he could properly throw him a fair way considering how thin he was looking.

"I ain't going in there with him." He states. Walker can argue but he's not going and if he's not going then Walker knows he's fucked before he starts.

"There's no one else around." Walker replies stiffly. Properly hoping to point out that Miller is sitting at the table and he should at last show some signs of being a tiny bit grateful of the help. Miller's not help, Miller's a liability.

"Have a shake down of the bars there'll be someone knocking around." There's always another couple of hunters around, minding their own business not looking to show that they're there not looking to get involved but they're there and he knows they are because he's pulled the same trick himself plenty of times.

"Nick Ramsey and George Green." Miller states picking up his backpack and his gun from the table. "They're in the city. Brady, get fucked yeah." He unlocks the door and fucks off.

"He got me the mansion plans."

"I don't give a shit. This is a fucking gang bang." He states. It's a brilliant opportunity as well that he wants to take but he knows it's going to take more than himself to get it done. Walker will be useful but he needs heavy guns, a decent couple of hunters to get this place secure and get the job done.

He hates working with others but for a prize like this… There's got to be cash in there, demons liked to keep cash about, they invested in banks but they didn't keep all their money in them because then other demons would keep track. Cut them off if they had too much, cut them down and take it for themselves.

This demon living in luxury, he had to have enough to fund a few upgrades in weapons and enough that he can sit back for a few weeks and keep Cheryl happy with a better set of digs.

"I'll go get them."

"You stay here. I'll get them." He knows Nick and Green better than Walker. He speaks their language the hunting language. Shoot first ask questions later or take them down anyway possible.

They aren't pleased to see him, he can tell when Nick tries to escape through the tiny bathroom window of the bar that the pair are in. A hunter friendly bar no less. These two weren't around when they were handing out brains, he doesn't need their intelligence or lack of it, he needs their hunting skills. Every demon knew the bars. Knew who was there. It was sloppy to be there but needs must.

"What's in it for me?"

"A good kill and possibly cash."

Every hunter needed money. They were fighting a war that few knew about out of their own pockets. Hunting was a shit job.

He makes a plan his old man wouldn't have been proud of. He'd have bitched at him every second of the day about it. But no plan was ever good enough for Seamus.

He makes sure that the plan is good enough for his high standards, that everyone knows where they need to be and everyone knows that when it comes down to it it's every man for himself just like always. There's no loyalty when demons are bearing down on you.

The bonus that Walker brings that he can only appreciate on jobs like this one is his knowledge of CCTV systems and how to cut them. Police training. Very handy.

Green deals with the guards walking the grounds with all the efficiency of a former SAS soldier. Clears the path. The house is lit up like a Christmas tree and he wishes that they had done this one in day light, even if they'd have no cover… No cover in daylight verses no cover inside the house in darkness.

He and Walker go in first, there's no chance of subtly it's brute force and weaponary. Shoot everything that moves then possibly think about whether the bodies are demon, a bit obvious when they start melting or collateral full human damage. He's given up trying to work out which is which before pulling the trigger he'd been caught out once too often.

Chaos reigns as the demons catch on that they're under attack. There's more than Walker intelligence suggested he knows for a fact when he's reaching for another clip. They just keep coming and coming. He's changed clips twice in both guns and they're still coming.

There's a explosion to his right and he gets knocked into the wall hard. He manages to see Nick retreating. Walker's still fighting but they're in trouble. Serious trouble… He feels the blow just before he blacks out.

"Brendan." He's been shaken. "Brendan wake the fuck up." Walker.

"Where are we?" The smell that over powers him and nearly chokes him is enough to let him know that he's somewhere he doesn't want to be. It's the smell of rotting flesh, excrement and sweat. The air is thick, too warm. Too many people breathing the same air.

"Holding."

"Fuck's sake." He growls opening his eyes. They're in a cage, it's not a cell. And there are a dozen he can count from a quick glance.

"Seems we gate-crashed someone else's party and got caught in the cross fire. That demon, the major player went after our boy at the same time we did."

"I always did have lousy timing." An hour earlier or two hours later and there would have been no problem.

"Why haven't they killed us?" He asks.

"He keeps slaves." Walker replies forcing cheerfulness. "Aren't we lucky?"

He looks around at the cages more closely in each there are twenty people, thin, starving, their eyes down on the floor except the fleeting glances up. Trained to keep their eyes down. Beaten into submission.

"You two better shut up." A voice pipes up.

He follows Walker's gaze until he works out the voice belonged to a boy, well a young man, thin as a rake, dressed in rags, covered in filth, bruises and cuts littering his skin and still the prettiest thing he's ever seen. His eyes aren't cast down, they aren't full of fear, they're full of defiance.

He can't have been a slave long if he's still got that attitude in him.

"Yeah or what?"

"Or the guards will come in." The boy replies. "You two are already fucked being hunters without pissing them off on top."

"Who says we're hunters?"

"You're not begging for your lives, clawing at the cages and you're not crying like school girls but you're bitching like two old women. That makes you hunters." The boy's got a mouth on him.

The doors open and the cages rattle as the people move immediately back as far as they can go, scrambling over each other desperate to hide even though there's nowhere to hide.

The guards come in, four of them, followed by two demons, a man and a woman. They walk down the row's. The woman runs a knife along the metal and every cages moves with the fear that is struck from the sound. The group stops in front of the boys cage. The others in there are as far back as they can be but not the boy, he's stood at the front. At least he has the intelligence to glue his eyes to the floor.

"Bring him. Time for some fun." The man states. He watches as the boy steps forward calmly, doesn't fight. There's a moment in the bodies behind him and a blond girl looks then drops her gaze. He sees the boy flick his hand behind his back and the girl immediately huddles back into the mass.

The boy is escorted out by the guards.

"Modus will be here soon hunters. He wants to deal with you personally." The man states.

Explains why they aren't dead already.

The door closes and the masses of bodies remain tense, the door bolts and they jump then relax. Moving away.

"We're fucked." Walker states.

He knows they are. Modus isn't just a major player he's also a skilled major player. The kind that every hunter knows better than to get mixed up with. Even the fringes of his operations are no go.

"You hear me." Walker's losing his cool. Not surprising, capture and the mention of Modus is enough to throw even a seasoned hunter.

He's not scared though. He knows he's properly going to die and except for leaving Cheryl alone he doesn't care all that much. This day was always going to come.

"… He can't take much more of it Dad." He turns his attention to the cage where the boy had been. The young blond girl is whispering fiercely to an older man and another young woman with black hair. A family from what he can see. The closeness. He's seen it in civilian's. Never in his own family.

"Ste is not your problem Amy." The older man states.

So the boy's name was Ste. Short for Steven he can assume.

"What are we going to do?" Walker asks pacing back a forwards. They're the only two in this cage. He gives the demons their due they're smart. Two hunters in a cage together were easier to get to than two hunters in a cage with other bodies. Not that it would matter. The demons would just kill everyone in the cage.

"Where are we?" He knows they're underground from the damp and because demons always liked to keep their slaves underground. They're underground, no windows, one door with a heavy bolt from what he had heard. The cages locked via ancient looking devices. Old. Used. Travelled. The demon that held them like to keep the cages when he moved.

It's amazing how much of what Seamus taught him comes back when he's trapped.

"Learn about your enemy from your surroundings." The old man used to say.

The demon was old school. Lots of slaves, uncommon in the more modern demons. Modus well he knows that name. Famous for torture. Ruthless like most other demons and a twist fucker to boot. Standard major player.

Truth was he hadn't played much attention to demons that he wasn't meant to go after, he trusted himself to make sure that he got the right information. This time he had trusted Walkers information or lack of it and he was going to die for his troubles.

"North Wales." Walker replied. "From that house to here I think we're in or near Connah's Quay. Nearly an hour's drive, west from the house through Liverpool, south east a bit then south."

That'll do. As long as he know roughly where he is.

"Tell me you have a plan." Walker states.

There is no plan. He knows that even though he can get them out of the cage he can't possibly get them out of the room and that's what Walker's talking about. They have no options in this room but to sit and wait.

He sighs and leans against the metal of the cage, head aching. He puts his hand to the side of his head, it comes away red. It explains the sticky feeling on his neck. Head wounds bleed, a lot.

He listens to the hum around him, they barely talk these slaves, whispers between them. He can feel their eyes on him.

He let's himself drift off, he may as well sleep he hates waiting.

The bolt being pulled wakes him. He doesn't know how long he slept but not wasn't long enough. The cages rattle again. The masses at the back of the cages press back. He looks across at Walker who is sitting against the bars on the other side, picking at his nails.

The guards come in dragging the boy, Ste, Steven. He watches as the guards drag his boneless body along the floor, he's covered in blood, cuts all over him, an almighty black eye. They open the cage next to theirs and dump him inside. He sees the blond girl, Amy, he doesn't even know why he's bothering to remember names. But remembering things, names, places, dates was one of the best things any hunter can do, he can't just switch it off because he's going to die. She looks like she's itching to move forward, her Dad is holding her wrist.

As soon as the guards lock the cage and bolt the door she scrambles forward, dropping to her knees next to the boy.

"Ste." She whispers. "Ste, come on." She says more forcefully, she looks scared to touch him. With that much blood on a body he'd be reluctant too. She puts a hand on his chest and shakes him a little. "Ste… Dad he's not waking up." She sounds scared.

"Leave him. He'll wake up when he's ready." Her Dad replies.

The woman he thinks is her sister moves forward and wraps her arms around Amy's shoulders pulling her back.

"It's nearly feeding." The woman states. "They'll be back."

He looks around the cages and the masses this time have stayed where they are. There's no daylight in the cages, the hanging bulbs are the only light and the guards haven't switched them off in the entire time they've been in the cages, he's got the feeling that they're never switched off, that these slaves, people he reminds himself know the routine so well that they don't need anything other than their own instinct to know what time it is, clock hands don't matter the actual time doesn't mean anything but feeding time that will in ingrained on them. Like when to sleep, when they'll be working.

He looks at the boy and wonders what there is about him that has that girl so worried about him that she'll dare step out of line. Maybe it's the defiance. Maybe she wishes she could be like that. He doesn't know why he's even bothered. But he's still looking at the lines of the boy's face, takes in the bruises that he hadn't seen before he can guess from experience what caused them. Fists, something more solid had made the black eye, he can see a clean cut, fists tear skin.

He startles when one of the boys blue eyes open the one that isn't swollen shut, bluer than blue, deep and hold a look that's reserved for the old and weary. This boy has the eyes of a man fifty years older than his age. Seen too much. He knows that look, he sees it every morning in the mirror.

He expects him to look away but he doesn't just stares at him. He looks away first and he hears the puff of what might be a laugh.

"Ste." Amy is back at his side.

"I'm alright Ames." He doesn't look alright, he doesn't even sound alright but he understands the need to reassure. He's done it with Cheryl more times than he cares to count. Told her he's fine and that stab wound is just a nick. It's not lying, it's reassuring.

He sees the way the boy's arms shake as he pushes himself up to sitting, hears the hitch that comes from bruised or broken ribs. He rests his head against the door of the cage and looks open, shifting. That boy has taken a heavy beating.

He puts his fascination down the lack of anything else to be bothered about in the room. Walker's eyes are on him, a tiny frown, he shrugs and Walker closes his eyes again.

"Why do they do this to you?" Amy asks hand on the boys face a tiny piece of her own ragged clothing in her hand gently wiping at the blood on his face.

"Because they've got nothing better to do." The boy replies. "Hey Ames I'm fine right." He pushes her hand away. "Use any more of your clothes on me and you'll be walking around in the buff." He flashes her a smile.

The bolt slides.

"Ames get back." The boy states firmly. He's not moving but the girl does as she's told.

More guards enter with bags, the smell worsens and he can only guess that the food that they're going to be given will be rotting. He watches bread being thrown in so stale that it bounces and slides across the floors, then plastic bags are emptied onto the floor outside the cages. It's like watching a farmer putting out food for cows but cows eat straight away, these people don't move from the back of the cell.

The guards skip their cage. They get bread, a loaf. Not that he'd eat what's on offer but then he's not starving. He's not desperate. Walker doesn't look inclined either.

He sees a second before it happens the guard raises it's boot and kicks the boy viciously forward he drops onto his side and coughs a bit.

"Could have just asked." The boy states even as he tries to regain his breathing. He has to admit the boy is possibly the most stubborn man he has ever seen.

"Nothing like making life easy for yourself." He finds himself saying. He'd been thinking it but he hadn't meant to say it.

"He kicks like an old woman in need of a hip replacement anyway, hurts more getting hit by a hand bag."

He laughs a bit at the boy's audacity. They both know the guard can hear him but the he's isn't bothered, isn't scared like the others. It makes his stand out more than his looks do. In place that stinks of fear, desperation and hopelessness this boy, this Steven rebels.

He wonders how he survives but then he's seen that when it really comes down to it he'll keep his head down and not fight. He knows the rules, he knows the limits and he may push at them but he doesn't break them enough to be killed.

The guards leave again and then there's a scramble. The cages move with the force as all the occupants rush forward, he fears for a second that Steven could be crushed but he pulls himself out of the way, rests against the side, draws his legs up and lets the others claw for the scraps of rotting vegetables and off meat. The noise is almost deafening. Fights break out but quickly abate. It's every man and woman for themselves. Fingers scooping up the dregs until the floor outside the cell is cleaner than any other part of the place.

The masses push away from the front of the cages and scatter around the floor. The tension relents and talking starts a little laughter here and there. The guards mustn't come back for a long time after feeding and the people can be people again instead of slaves for a time.

He realises that Steven didn't manage to get anything to eat. He hadn't moved. He looks at Walker then the bread, Walker shakes his head. He doesn't want it, Walker doesn't. It's wrong in a place where food is so very scarce that they should waste it.

He pushes himself up and collects the bread that is so stale there's mould on it. It's not fit to be eaten but he hasn't got anything else to offer.

He taps Steven's shoulder.

"What?" He looks over his shoulder at him with a weariness that doesn't suit him.

"Want some?" He knows that he can't just give it to him. There's no way that the others in his cage aren't going to come over and try and steal it if he gives him the full loaf and in Steven's weakened condition he won't be able to fight them off, and he won't be able to take it back.

"Should keep it." Steven says.

"I'm not hungry." He can go days without food if he needs to. Seamus had made him get used to it time and time again.

"Yeah alright then."

He has to slam the bread into the floor to get it to break. He hands him a small bit through the bars. Steven immediately gestures to the girl to come over and he gives it to her she smiles and starts to break it into even smaller pieces handing them to her family.

"That was for you." He states.

"Yeah and what makes me so special eh? She's starving. They all are." Steven replies.

He doesn't comment again as he keeps handing the rock hard break through the bars and Steven keeps handing it around.

"Last bit." He hands it through and finally Steven eats. He eats slowly like a man used to stretching what little food he has out so that it feels like he's eaten more.

"How long you been here?" If there's even the remotest chance that he can get out, get back to Cheryl then he needs information.

"Years, came from up further north originally." He already knows that from his accent. "Can't remember a time when I haven't been in some kind of cage… What do you want to know?" The change in direction almost causes whiplash. "You don't want my life story, shit as it is. So Mr big bad hunter what do you want to know?"

"Brendan."

"Like names matter."

"How many guards?"

"Which level?"

"How many level's?"

"Four. Basement which is here, three guards outside the door at all times. Guards quarters I haven't been in. Ground level two on the front door, three on the back and five floating around. Top floor don't know." Steven sighs.

"Outside?" Walker asks suddenly interested.

"Do I look like I've been outside? Ames." He calls the girl over. "They want to know the layout of outside."

She looks at him, calculating then at Steven who nods briefly.

"There's big wall all the way around, codes on the gates that the guards open to take us out into the fields."

"Is it open from the house to the wall?"

She frowns.

"Yes, there's a big lawn. I've never been around the front only the back. There's high electric fences around the fields. Loads of people have tried to escape but the fence kills them… There are guards walking around the perimeter."

"Amy leave them, come here." Her Dad calls her back. A scared look on his face. Obviously doesn't like his daughter talking to them.

"We'll have to switch off the fences." Walker states.

"They're not letting you two out until Modus comes back and by the time he's finished with you well running will be the last thing you're capable of." Steven says. He turns further. "You actually think you can do it don't you?" He laughs.

He doesn't think they can, he's as good as dead but he's not dead yet and he'd like to take a few with him when he does go.

"We need weapons." Walker states.

He taps his boot at the thought. When they'd stripped them of their weapons they'd been worried about guns. His ankle holster is bare.

"Yeah they keep them lying around for just anyone to pick up." Steven rolls his eyes.

The sarcasm grates on him.

"They got cameras in here boy?" He asks.

Steven huffs at him.

"Two no audio, one next to the door the other in the far end. Keep your back to it they won't notice anything."

He takes his boot off and pulls the insole out revealing a tiny four silver blade in a cavity he had caved out for just such an occasion. He carefully takes it out, shows Walker as he pushes it up his sleeve, catching it on his shirt so it stays out of sight. He needs it in a better position but for now it'll do.

He notices that the people are moving again.

"Watering time." Steven states.

The pipes above them rumble, a hiss as pressure goes through them and water pour down into each cage through a nozzle in the centre. He watches the people slosh under it, cup there hands and drink.

"You've got a minuet before they shut it off again." Steven says pulling at the bar to get to his feet and hobbles over. The people part around him. Maybe giving him the bread would have worked. They all seem willing to let him get to the water in a way they aren't with anyone else. He pulls his rag of a shirt over his head. The bruises are frightening. It's a wonder Steven can stand never mind move around. There are cuts of various depths, some healed and some on their way to healing. Scars. The edge of a tattoo which he frowns at… If his ribs weren't protruding alarmingly, if he wasn't far too thin, if he was feed up he can tell that he'd have a good body on him. With his naturally thin frame he wouldn't ever carry much weight… He stands under the water, mouth tilted up letting water fill his mouth, then quickly scrubs his face, takes another mouthful then walks back to them.

Walker gets to his feet, he follows taking his eyes away, cupping his hands and drinking the water which tastes fine. It tastes like water, not chemicals. Although if it is drugged then there's nothing he can do. Going without food is one thing, going without water is completely different.

His clothes get splashed and his boots get wet. He drinks as much as he can before the supply cuts dead.

The cages all have a slight tilt to them, the water all goes through a small drain in the middle wide enough to act as a toilet as well. Who said being held by demons wasn't five star luxury.

Steven pulls his shirt on and lies on the wet floor, arm stuffed under his neck.

The bolt goes again.

The guards more of them than before come in. He expects the masses to huddle back again but they don't. They stand in rows waiting. One by one the cages are emptied and the people split. They go willingly, do as they're told until there are only himself, Walker and Steven left in the entire basement.

Walker starts doing sit ups.

Steven is sleeping.

He wondering how badly Cheryl is panicking. If she's managed to sleep. He knows that she won't be looking for him. She knows better.

He doesn't know how long they're held in the cage for, he knows that it's been five feedings and he can guess that one is morning the other is evening so he can guess that it's afternoon or evening, not too late because the workers aren't back.

The bolt turns and the man and woman that had taken Steven that first night they were put in the cage walk in. Steven stands and follows them out eyes down cast. The black eye had faded quickly as had the cuts. He still looks beaten down everywhere but in his eyes.

He can't help but wonder what they'll do to him. Steven had explained briefly when he asked him why he didn't go out with the other what he did. He called himself entertainment. He hadn't let himself think too much on that.

By the time feeding and watering is done Stevens still not back.

He's not back the next cycle either and he can't help but think what a waste it would be if they'd killed him.

"The Master has returned. Time to die." A female formed demon sing songed.

He shook his head at Walker not to fight. They were still in the basement and they couldn't escape from it. He needed to get upstairs, if Walker fought the demons would likely kill them in the cage.

The room is massive, fireplace burning, candles everywhere, wood beams above their heads. Lavish but simple. He loses all thought when he see Steven hands chained together kneeling head down. His chest covered in welts. He doesn't look up, even with all the movement around them.

Modus, he assumes sits in the centre of the room. He looks like a banker. Slick hair, if that wasn't enough for him to hate him the smug self-satisfied smirk plastered on his face and the silver in his eyes completes the job. Defiantly Modus.

"You dare…" He tunes him out. He wishes the bastard would just kill him unless he's attempting to make him top himself rather than listen to this shit. Demons, they loved to talk. He keeps his hands behind his back, glances out the corner of his eye to make sure there's no guard close enough to see him.

They didn't tie their hands, that kind of arrogance is lethal. He knows where his blades going. He looks to Walker to check he's with him. He nods.

Modus is still prattling along nicely. All the guards in the room are distracted. Nice thing about a demon with human slaves all his minions carry guns or weapons. Worst thing about demons with human slaves is the same thing.

He jumps up to his feet and throws the knife before they have chance to stop him. It hits Modus high in just below the throat. Better than it could have been without a balanced blade.

He lets experience and years of fighting lead his hands, instinct guiding his blows. Walker is keeping up. The shooting starts and the tables turn. He runs for cover picking up two guns from fallen guards. There's not much to take cover behind. He covers Walker as he makes a run across the room to get a better angle.

Modus has disappeared which suits him just fine.

It feels like it takes hours as hyperawareness kicks in but the room is clear of gun fire in minuets. Candles are knocked over and a fire starts. Clogging the air quickly.

"Brendan!" Walker shouts just as he feels a blade in his side. He throws his head back and the demon falls, he turns and shoots it. Growling in annoyance. He hopes it not hit anything vital. It was angled up, he felt it hit a rib. But he can breathe just fine for now and that's enough. If they can get clear he'll look at it later.

Out of nowhere he's knocked off his feet. The woman is on him, tearing at him, his guns click empty, he tries to get a hold of her, tries to hit her but he can't do that and stop her laying into him.

It stops with the weight coming off him. He looks up expecting to see Walker… Steven has the chains he's bound with around the woman's neck and he's pulling back. The woman struggles but she can't shake him off, stops completely when Steven grabs her jaw and twists it violently. He hears the tell tale snap of neck.

"Shoot her then." Steven states like he's an idiot as he lift the chains from her neck. He's out of bullets. Walker strides over and does the honours.

"Better run." Steven says panting and leaning against his knees with braced arms.

He has a split second to decide. The place is well and truly on fire. Steven's no one to him, a pretty face of defiance… He saved his life. He's mal nourished and weak, he'll slow them down.

"I'm not leaving you here." He states grabbing Steven's chained hand. He lets go long enough to pick up another couple of guns and a couple of knives anything at all useful, pushing a knife into Steven's shaking hands.

The front door is unlocked as the push through out on the drive. He looks around. They're in the middle of nowhere. The wall, dirt fields and after that grass. No sigh of other buildings. They need transport.

There are cars on the drive. He drags Steven towards a classic Bentley, so much easier to jack than the modern cars lining the front of the house. He drops the drivers seat forward and pushes Steven into the back. Walker drops into the passengers side.

It doesn't take him long to have the car hot wired and running.

"Amy and the others." Steven states rubbing at his eyes and squinting, he wonders how long it is since he's seen daylight.

His eyes need to adjust even after a few days.

"They aren't my concern."

"Then I'll…"

"You'll sit there and shut the fuck up." He growls. There are demons starting to gather by the gates. Fuck Amy and her family, they've still got to get out of this. This car versus those gates, he doesn't fancy their chances.

He starts shooting as soon as they are in range and so do the demons. The car is riddled with bullet holes. It'll go through the gates, but it might not run on the other side…

He feels Steven reaching between the seats.

The gates start to open.

He glances sideways and Steven holds up a button on a key chain. Steven flashes him a smile and a roll of the eyes.

They're through the gates and into the first fields were he can see the workers in a line pushing potatoes into the ground.

"That work on that gate?" He asks Steven. There's another gate set in the electric fence that Amy had told them about.

"How the fuck should I know?" Steven replies. He presses it. Nothing happens but he has a feeling they're out of range… They're within range and the buttons still not working. The guards he can see are running towards the burning house, to their master. The workers are running for the fence. The first are already electrocuted.

Steven reaches between the seats again but this time he sets his hand on the hand break and pulls just before he can stop him. The car slides and he almost loses it completely.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"You are not leaving them to fry." Steven spits at him.

"There's a box next to the gate." Walker states.

He sighs and sets the car away again pulling up just in front of the gates. Walker gets out checking the gate over then shoots the grey box to the side until sparks shoot out of it. If Walkers sealed the gate with that stunt he might just kill him, it was his bad intelligence that had started the slide into the shit.

Walker strides back to the bonnet of the car turns and shoots at the gate dead centre in springs open.

"Let's go." Walker states dropping into the car.

"What about Amy?" Steven protests.

"We've given them a chance, it's all we can do. We need to run hard and fast. This is her best chance at escaping. He's not going to be bothered by slaves." Why the fuck is he explaining himself. He puts his foot to the floor.

"We need to dump the car." It's too conspicuous. His side gnaws at him pain starting to radiate now the adrenaline is starting to drop.

He runs his usual find a nice quiet spot near a town and jack another car although this time he parks a lot closer. Speed is of the essence.

"Come on." Walkers already out. Steven isn't, he's struggling and fumbling. He reaches into the car and pulls him out. He staggers into the side of the car. The chains are weighing down his arms and he bumps chest first.

He checks the chains, he can't get the locks off without his kit… Which is shit because it's gone, he really liked that kit. He has a spare back in the house.

Steven's legs don't look like they're going to hold up. Fast, Brady. He doesn't need to remind himself.

"I'll carry you."

"You fucking won't." Steven spits back and straightens as best he can.

"Then keep up." He knows he's asking the impossible of him but Steven sets his jaw and heads off in the same direction as Walker, stumbling. He hasn't got time for this. He grips Steven's shoulder spinning him and lifting him into a fireman's lift, jogging toward Walker as Steven screams protests.

"I'll drop you." He warns anything to shut him up which he does. The pain in his side intensifies, he needs some decent pain killers.

Walker has the car running by the time he gets there. A fucking Subaru Impreza. Fucking Walker. Never could resist a flash car. At least it's fast.

He deposits Steven in the back seat and doesn't bother arguing about who's driving with Walker.

"How bad?" Walker asks.

Time to bite the bullet. He lifts his filthy shirt up to reveal a nasty gash on his side. Defiantly needs stitches and bucket of TCP. He needs a shower first. Fuck he stinks. They all do.

Walker pulls up hard to the doss house he's being staying at taking all of five minutes to come back with three bags and stuff them in the boot. He looks over his shoulder at a sleeping Steven. He looks peaceful, in need of a hospital, three days sleep and to be wrapped up in cotton wool for the next day and forever… He wonders when he stopped thinking of him as a boy…

Cheryl nearly blows his head off as he gets into the house before throwing herself at him crying into his shoulder and gripping him so tight he's wondering if she's doing damage.

"We're running." He states.

She looks stunned. He's expecting a fight but she immediately rushes off while he grabs everything he possibly can, every weapon and bit of medical kit he can get his hands on. It's already half packed, he's always ready to get out quick.

Cheryl's far quicker than he expected, he lugs bag after bag to the car. It's not big enough for all of them and their gear... Walker seen the problem too. He's sitting astride a motor bike.

"Destination?"

He blows his cheeks at that. Where are they going? Somewhere remote, quiet where they can see anything coming at them. Far enough that there's definite distance from Modus' power base…

Ireland is his choice. He knows the place like the back of his hand, Seamus has friends there but it's another country, they'll need papers, papers take time, especially those good enough to fool demons.

"Quinn's?" Walker suggests.

"He's dead." Died two years ago.

"But his house is still there. Turned it into a safe house didn't he." Walker replies.

"Check it."

"No phone." Fuck's sake. "Chez?" She hands her phone over.

He doesn't want to bring his problems down on any other hunter that happens to be staying there, it's just bad manners.

"Free and clear." Walker replies.

"See you there."

Walker nods and pulls off hard. Speeding down the streets.

"Who's that?!" Cheryl squeals with alarm pointing into the back.

"Steven. He's coming with us." He's also passed out. He pushes him up as he loads the rest of the bags into the side. Steven slides down the door, not a flicker of anything.

He swallows a couple of pain killers. He needs to stitch the wound up and they haven't got time to waste.

"Chez take the wheel." He sounds like Seamus barking orders but it's a default setting when he's running. Seamus was a shit father but an excellent hunter.

She doesn't argue. He could get used to this.

He pulls his medical kit out of his spare hunting bag at his feet. What he wouldn't give for a bottle of whiskey. A couple of stitches, enough to stem the bleeding until he can wash it out properly and do the full job on it.

"Jesus." Cheryl exclaims. "You stink."

He ignores her and pulls his shirt up.

"Bren…"

"Not now." He growls. Takes a deep breath and pours a pre-mised TCP solution into the wound. The smell over rides even their stink. He grinds his teeth against the sting and quickly sticks three separate loose stitches into the wound. Plastering gauze over the top and sticking it down with micro porous tape.

They switch seats when he fills the car up to the brim with petrol. The fucking thing drinks it apparently.

He comes back and Cheryl is staring at Steven.

"Who is he?"

"A slave. He helped us… Saved my life." As soon as he says that Cheryl entire demeanour changes and she relaxes. He knows that she trust him not to bring danger with them but she's still very wary of strangers.

He hadn't even considered him a threat. He looks like he wouldn't harm a fly, small and fragile, he'd seen him snap a neck. He's not helpless but he's not a threat. His gut tells him so, Steven's actions, his words tell him so.

They have to change car for the final run in. He finds something suitably unstylish, something that no one will look twice at. Cheryl helps him switch the bags into it.

He grabs his spare pick locks out of his bag and quickly removes the chains from Steven's wrists which are ripped raw. He shakes him, he wakes slowly rubbing at his eyes and wincing at the light.

"New car." He states.

Steven is moving too slowly, like his limbs are lead weights. He lets him take his time, staying behind him. He's seen people crash before, knows that it's taking everything to even move. He shivers violently as the breeze catches him. Cheryl immediately gets out the car and pulls a blanket from the pile of stuff from the owner they had cleared out. She waits until he's in the back seat before wrapping it around him.

"He's skin and bone." She says sadly.

She not wrong.

Walkers already at the house. It's smaller than he remembers. Three bedrooms, a kitchen, bathroom and a living room. It's old, worn, it smells musty.

Cheryl gets a room by herself by default. The living room is for kit as always. The kitchen is tiny. He wants his space but he can't bring himself to have Steven room with Walker. There are two single beds in one of the rooms anyway. He lets Walker have the double bed.

He carries Steven inside, he can't bring himself to get him to walk up the steps. He's light as a feather anyway and places him on the blanket on the sofa while himself, Cheryl and Walker empty the car. He puts it in the garage out of the way of prying eyes.

He has the first shower. Scrubs himself raw trying to get the smell off himself. Cuts the stitches and pulls them out. Doses the wound with TCP again and gets Walker to stitch it up while Cheryl fusses with the bed linen from the airing cupboard getting all the beds ready.

It was the rules of a safe house. You use it, you replenish what you eat and you wash everything and leave the beds stripped.

Walker finishes up and goes for his own shower.

"He needs a clean." Cheryl states as she goes into the kitchen flicking the kettle on, coming back with two strong black coffees handing one to him.

He nods.

"I was going out of my mind." She starts. He loves Cheryl he really does but fucking hell she doesn't half go on, and on, and on, and back to the start and on. He pretends to listen but really he's thinking about just how he's going to get Steven clean. He's far from squeamish about it but it still poses problems. There's a bath but his skins filthy and he doesn't want him lying in that with all those cuts. He needs fixing up as well… But he doesn't think Steven will be able to stand long enough in the shower.

Walker comes down, frowns at Cheryl then interrupts thank fuck with a question about what they need from the shops.

"Steven." He shakes at him again. He's quicker to wake.

"Will you let me fucking sleep?" He moans turning over. The petulance almost makes him laughs.

"How about a shower?"

"It's not watering time." Steven replies.

"We're not in there anymore. You can have a shower when you want. A warm one."

Steven's face is struck with confusion, then he opens his eyes, sitting up quickly looking around.

"Thought it was a dream." His eyes are wide and wild with panic.

"Hey it's okay." He needs to reassure him that he's safe but he said he had been in the cages years. It's a big change.

It had taken Walker a couple of weeks to sort himself out. Cheryl still wasn't completely right. Steven… It'll be a long road.

Steven nods, calms, though he's still looking around like he's lost.

The routine must have been drilled into him for so long, even if he being held didn't break completely, didn't become a slave, something's still went.

"Just weird." Steven says in a shaky voice.

"It's okay love." He feels Steven jump at Cheryl's voice. "Honest. You'll be fine."

Steven looks to him though for the reassurance. It's shocking, that brash, gobby little bastard in the cage wasn't with him. Here was a young traumatised tortured man who didn't know the rules, couldn't rely on routine, didn't know what freedom was.

"Let's get you clean, those wounds sorted out and I'll let you go back to sleep yeah?" He feels like he's talking to Chez after a nightmare.

Steven looks around then back at him and nods.

He almost offers to carry him but Steven gets up slowly, unsteadily.

"Find him some clothes." He asks Cheryl who immediately goes to his bags and starts searching.

By the time he's standing behind Steven guiding him up the stairs, Cheryl's found a t-shirt and a pair of jogging bottoms and pushes them into his hands.

Steven looks amazed by the bathroom.

"It's so clean."

He snorts a laugh at him.

"Just saying." Steven sulks.

He needs to be sensitive, he managed with Cheryl he can manage now. It's just been a while.

"If I leave you are you going to fall down?"

"Tired not fucking helpless." Steven snaps.

He winces.

"Shout if you need me."

Steven glowers at him.

He stands by the door anyway. He really doesn't think that he'll stay on his feet that long, although stubbornness might make it longer than he thinks.

It's weird having someone else to look after, he seems to be Steven's choice. He doesn't know what to do for the best. He had thought about offering to take Steven somewhere and let him get on but he sees now that it's not possible. Steven needs looking after. He's not ready to go out into the world. He's just like Cheryl was, just like Walker was. But the damage is greater, he knows it is.

The thump happens while he's musing through his options.

He finds Steven in the bottom of the bathtub it would be funny except he'd smacked his head on the side and his eye brow is bleeding.

He knows better than to make a big deal out of it. Steven is vulnerable, weak and freaked out. He'd already seen and heard that.

Steven's half washed. He pulls the shower head out and grabs the shower gels and sets about washing him. Naked he looks like a skeleton. There are scars everywhere, fresh welts from burns. The tattoo is startling on his pale skin. He recognises the marking but he can't quite recall from where, he doesn't want to scare Steven with too much staring or even looking. He's methodical. Puts a handful of gel into the hand that isn't covering his genitals and makes a massive effort to make sure that Steven knows he's not looking.

"Done?" He asks keeping his back turned.

"Yeah." Steven's voice is tired. He still doesn't look as he turns off the shower, retrieves a towel and drops it into the tub.

"Brendan?"

"Yeah."

"Can you help me out? I can't get up." Steven sounds embarrassed.

"No problem." He picks up another towel and wraps it around him as he lifts him out and places him on the floor.

"I'm pathetic aren't I?" Steven's eyes are on the floor.

"You've had a rough time. No shame in asking for help." He says retrieving the medical kit.

He uses TCP and for someone who looks like a bag of bones, he's impressed that the only time that Steven hisses at the string is when he cleans his eyebrow.

He helps without asking to put the t-shirt and pull the jogging bottoms up. He looks swamped by them. He picks him up again and takes him through to the bedroom pushing the covers back and placing him on the bed. Tucking him in.

"Thanks." Steven whispers.

"No problem."

"Not for this… For getting me out of there."

He grunts. He has no words, can't explain the why's to how this happened and Steven's asleep anyway.


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you for reviewing.

Been a long time since I updated this. Very sorry. It's not because I've lost interest in writing it, it's more because my two other on-going stories have kind of taken up so much of the time I have to write.

* * *

"How is he?" Cheryl asks quietly coming into the room and looking at Steven.

He shrugs. He doesn't know.

"I made some sandwiches." She says picking up the towels from the floor. "Walker's gone to get some provisions. How long are we going to be here?"

He doesn't know that either. He needs to give it a week or so for the immediate aftermath to play out, maybe another week for it to calm down… He can't afford to be out of the game for too long. Not to mention that they're going to get very strapped for cash, another reason he should have left Steven to it. Another mouth to feed, another body to clothe…

He shrugs, double checks that Steven is dead to the world and follows Cheryl back downstairs.

He grabs his gun bag and puts it on the table pulling out his weapons. All his favourite guns taken. Bastard demons. It's not like they even need them. He doesn't really need them, he has plenty others… It's not like he's going to go back and get them. He shouldn't have favourite weapons, he should have weapons. They should be nothing but instruments of the trade, tools for him to use. But the Browning Hi-power was reliable, light enough, carried a good clip, it had always fired… He just liked it. The .50 he carried blew holes in shit. It was bloody effective.

He's got another two pistols that he can use and still leave a spare. Two saw off shot guns that are useful in a squeeze but not practical for everyday use. He only kept them because he'd rather have them than not. A semi-automatic that he'd rather never use again after the last time when it had jammed, even with it fixed, one bad experience has him doubting it's use.

Cheryl places a plate at his elbow as he strips the weapons down, checking them, cleaning them and making sure that they won't let him down. They shouldn't. He'd only made them spares because he'd come into some money and bought two upgrades. As soon as the guns are back together and loaded, he takes a bite from his sandwich and goes about field stripping the weapons he had taken from Modus' guards. They're good weapons, useful. In good working order.

"What have you gotten yourself into this time?" Cheryl asks sitting down.

That remains to be seen. He's never been in this position before. He'd never been captured by any demon as highly ranked. Never escaped, set fire to it's home, freed it's slaves… He's not sure what to expect, so he's expecting an army coming at him. Them. If he didn't need to know Cheryl was safe he'd have left her. He should have. Knows he should have. It's all well and good getting himself into the shit but bringing her down too…

"Nothing I can't sort." He hopes.

Walker brings back enough food to feed them for at least two weeks. Tinned stuff, powered milk so they don't have to go anywhere… He half thinks about taking the risk and get the fresh stuff, but it's a blatant lack of respect for what he could bring down on them.

"Anyone follow?"

"No." Walker states. "I doubled back and went around the houses as much as I could, drove to the speed limit, nothing doing."

"No ringing anyone. The phone rings and all we say is 'in use' nothing else. We're off the map completely."

He gets up and goes to the cupboard under the stairs opening to reveal a computer. It hasn't been updated since the last time he'd been at Quinn's not that he's surprised. He wouldn't pay for an upgrade. None of the hunters that use it would and maybe that's the problem that's going to fall on their heads one day. It still works though. Basic but effective.

"We should re-set the perimeter sensors." The system is ancient but it still works, it's been switched off while no one was in residence. "They're at seven and fifty. I want five and two. It'll be dark in an hour we need it done by then. I'll take east and south, front to back, we'll meet at the back."

"I'll just make you dinner then." Cheryl huffs.

"I'm trying to make sure if someone comes we know about it." He snaps at her. "Sensors are black boxes about two inches big, laser linked, line of sight."

Walker nods in understanding. The boxes have to be linked completely otherwise someone or something could get through the gap.

He stuffs a gun into his waist band and knife into his boot. He can't afford to be caught without a weapon.

It's dark by the time he finishes setting them. Walker takes quarter of an hour longer.

He sits on a rock in the paddock beyond the garden hedge waiting for him. If he could be bothered he'd turn it into an ambush and check Walker is with it, but he's been stabbed and it's been a long week.

"Do you think Modus will come?" Walker asks sitting next to him.

"Got to hope that we're too insignificant for him to be arsed with." They should be. That bastard should have bigger problems. He's hoping that once Modus can't find them immediately that he'll give up. It would be an awful lot of resources to find two hunters that don't really mean shit and hadn't done anything to him, except stick a knife in his neck but Modus can heal from that, it's not going to kill him and it was his own arrogance that had let them escape in the first place, he can't see him wanting to admit that anytime soon. Better the brush it under the carpet once his temper at his house being burned down is over.

"I should have double checked the intel." Walker sighs, head in hands.

Bad timing, bad luck and not very good information. Walker couldn't have known that Modus would attack at the same time they did but he should have known there was something else stirring.

"Learn the lesson." Next time he checks Walkers information twice himself, like he should have done in the first place. "You're alive to learn it." He taps at his thigh and walks back towards the house.

He doesn't wake Steven for dinner. He knows he'll be more tired than hungry at the moment.

"What are we going to do about him?" Walker asks folk pointed at the ceiling. "Not like you to take in strays."

"You were a stray." Sometimes he avoids reminding Walker other days he just needs to knock him down a peg.

"Yeah but I'm useful. That kid is…"

"What?"

"He's…"

"He's what?"

"He's broken. He doesn't know life outside being a slave, he said it himself he's been in a cage as long as he can remember. I had a life before."

"So what do you suggest?" He's sure he's already gone through the options.

"Mental institution."

"Is that what you would've done to me?" Cheryl asks.

Walker shrugs but has the decency to look down.

"No, course not." He states. The thought had crossed his mind a few weeks after he had gotten her back, she wasn't sleeping, he wasn't sleeping because she wasn't, she was clinging to him for dear life and he'd worried that he wasn't helping her, that he couldn't, he held out though. "You're family."

"So I'm family, he's useful and that poor lad up there is nothing?" Cheryl slams her folk onto the table. "You two are what? Trying to keep the demons under control, save the world." She scoffs. "It's in good hands then isn't it? Bastards the pair of you."

"Chez."

"He's done nothing wrong and you want to lock him back up? Thought he saved you're life."

"He did. This is about what's best for him." He's still not sure what that is. It depends on Steven and how he copes. He hasn't seen enough yet to condemn him to doctors yet.

"He's not a pet Cheryl you can't just want to keep him because you're lonely when Brendan goes away."

"You're a shit." She storms off up the stairs.

"I'm just trying to be practical." Walker calls after her.

"Leave practical to me."

"I'm right though."

"You're not wrong… We're stuck here anyway." Time enough to work out what to do.

He's always been a light sleeper, training had only increased that. If he was caught sleeping by Seamus he was beaten for it. He learnt quickly to make himself a light sleeper because those beatings were the worst. Pitch black darkness and blows reigning down on him from all angles. Pushing him into walls, pushing him around so he lost his balance, his sense of where he was. He caught on quick to wake at the smallest noise.

As he rubs the sleep from his eyes he wonders how he managed to miss Steven getting off the bed and moving to the floor, quilt over himself but still on the carpet between the two beds. He's not asleep he can tell from his breathing, even though he's trying to cover it. It's not the pattern of someone sleeping it's the pattern of someone pretending to be asleep, trying hard to convince someone else that he's asleep.

It's a little after half five and the sun's not yet risen, there's a weird half-light that comes half an hour before dawn where it's light but it's not.

"Hungry?" He asks quietly. It's around feeding time. He's still got the slave routine in his body. "I know you're awake. Are you hungry?" He frowns and looks down on him from the bed. He's got his eyes open but he doesn't seem to be looking at anything. "Steven?" He wants to touch him but he doesn't know if he should, he doesn't know what the reaction will be. He's as weak as a kitten, any reaction he can handle.

"Steven. I'm going to touch your shoulder." It worked with Cheryl. Telling her what he was going to do before actually doing it. Letting her know what was coming. He reaches down, he barely makes contact before Steven pulling away pushing himself into the base of the bed, trying to get as far away as possible.

"It's okay."

Steven looks at him, unsure, then something clears and a bit of recognition comes in.

"You're safe, you're in a house with me, my sister and Walker, we aren't going to hurt you."

Steven nods.

"Are you hungry?"

Steven nods again.

"Lost your voice."

Steven shrugs even that looks like it took him all the energy he had in him. Speaking might just be a bit much effort.

He shakes his head and pulls on a jumper from the bottom of the bed. He's slept fully clothed with a gun under his pillow just in case. He'd thought about having one of them staying up but Walker was tired, so was he and Cheryl would have had them up for the slightest noise. He'd checked the alarm system before coming to be, made sure they were as safe as possible before climbing into bed and enjoying the softness after a week on a damp, cold concrete floor.

It takes Steven an age to get out of the room and down the stairs, his hand is almost on the waistband of the jogging bottoms as he follows just in case he falls, but he doesn't. He immediately goes to the window and looks out.

He looks through the cupboards. He doesn't know what to make him. There's no way his body is ready for a decent meal even if the urge is to feed him up. Get him looking less like a skeleton as soon as possible but he knows it's going to take time to build him back up. He pulls out a can of soup warming it on the hob. He pours half in a cup and takes it over to him.

"Go easy." He cautions.

Steven looks in the cup, smells it, looks at him with calculation, as if he's trying to work out if it's drugged or poisoned, he doesn't seem to reach a conclusion just sips cautiously at the soup.

"I'm going for a run." Walker states coming down the stairs pushing a gun into the back of his pants.

Steven watches Walker who winks at him, flashes a smile then heads out the door.

"Okay?"

"Yeah." He hasn't completely lost his voice.

He leaves Steven to it. Looking out the window, sipping his soup as he makes himself a bacon sandwich.

Cheryl comes down in a rush, slows, looks at Steven smiles a bit then helps herself to some of his bacon. She sits on the sofa, he sits next to her and Steven looks out the window.

A week confided in the tiny little house and he's ready to kill something. He hates being idle. The stab wounds not even causing him much trouble, not enough to stop him wanting to train or do something. It's not in his nature and it's not in his training. Move, run, kill, move, kill, kill, run, move. He's lived a life of constant motion. It's a constant itch of irritation being stuck in the house, limited movement, he can't go too far just in case, a mile and a half is the limit he gives himself even with Walker there.

He runs, five miles in the morning long loops around the property, two in the evening, he spars with Walker in the garden, gun never more than ten feet away but it's not enough. He wants to be back in the game. He hates being out of the loop even more when he's done it to himself. The hunting world shifts so quickly, the demons change position, everything can tilt in a week and everything that he had spent months learning can be completely opposite by the time he goes back.

He's done what he had to. Dropped them all off the grid so that no one knew where they were or at least no one that was going to drop them in it.

He can't keep sitting on his hands. He has to know what Modus is doing, he can't just sit there and wait anymore.

He can't watch Cheryl fussing around the house like a domestic goddess. Cleaning everything, admiring all the little things that make the place someone else's home. She's started talking about a permanent home again, she's pushing for it again and right now he can't tell her they're moving again because he doesn't know if they can but they will eventually.

Walker's ready to be back out there as well. He had slept in front of the TV, cleaned his guns, sharpened his knives, now he can't sit still. He's prowling. Doing sit ups and push ups every half an hour without fail during the day he wouldn't put it past him to be doing them in the middle of the night.

Steven. Steven's a shadow. A ghost with a physical body, and not much left of that. Nothing in his eyes. Sitting down looking out the window without a word, doing as he's told only when he's told. Eating when he's told, sleeping when he's told, shaking his head or nodding but he doesn't speak much unless it's a direct question even then it's barely more than three words… He misses the defiance. He misses the gobby little bastard that he had met. This shell is dull and makes him ache just looking at him. Without defiance the frailties are all too clear. If he hadn't seen and heard Steven full of life even beaten into the floor, he wouldn't believe it was possible. He'll get there eventually. He hopes. He prays that he isn't the one that's broken him. Everything that the lad must have gone through and it's getting out of the place that finally breaks him.

They need money. They're down to their last few hundred going after the mid level was meant to solve it, Walker's got a bit but feeding them all, buying Steven clothes has drained resources.

He rings around tentatively until he hears that Modus is back in Hell and no one knows quite how, just that he had been sent back. Some other demon had taken over all of his area's. No one knows who. There's nothing. No one knows. It's off. It doesn't matter what happens someone, somewhere knows but this time nothing. Black hole and it makes him grind his teeth in frustration. At least they can move, at least he can get out of the house.

Ethan Wilson a friend of his father's from way back whenever rings him a few hours after he had started putting his name back out there. Looking for paying jobs. Something that can get him some money and get him a kill at the same time.

"There's this job in France to take out a nest of vampires, this bloke's daughter was turned and he wants her and the vampires with her dead. He wants their heads as proof but he'll pay big money. I'd go for it if I hadn't broken my wrist. He wants someone immediately and your name came to mind. It'll be hard tracking and hostile but like I say it's a paid job." Wilson gives him the man's number. He'd rather not go after Vampires but that kind of money is rare. Personal vengeance does have it cropping up from time to time but it's the first time it's falling into his lap.

He gets the number and rings him, finds that the man will pay one thousand pounds a head as long as his daughters is one of the ones that is brought back.

"You're going." Cheryl states sighing. "No point asking is there?" He knows she doesn't want him to go.

"It's good money. Walker's going to stay here." He hadn't told Walker that but he nods anyway. He knows that he wants Cheryl protected, the house might be driving him up the wall but there's no point in moving especially when she's comfortable and the lost boy sat in the corner staring out the window isn't ready to move.

He gets paperwork sorted out easily enough, he can go through all his channels again without worrying, can hand out his new number. He had the papers sent to a postal drop in Dover. A hunter friendly pub that acts as a boarding house for those going to the continent. He's been there a few times, less so in the last year. Ali still knows who he is when he rings and lets him know there something coming for him and to make sure it's held and not sent back.

Packs his hunting bag as light as possible. The bare minimum. Vampires move fast he can't be going back anywhere to pick up stuff because he couldn't carry it on a hunt. He can't afford to be caught without something he needs either.

He kisses Cheryl on the cheek and tells her he'll be back soon. He tells Walker to keep hunting to a minimum and to not do it on the door step. He'd rather he didn't go out at all but he's not his boss he can't make him do anything.

He tells Steven that he's going. Sat on a chair looking out the window, knees drawn up, vacant look on his face. He turns his head ever so slightly and nods barely at him and turns his attention back to the horizon.

"You'll be fine with Chez and Walker." He states. No response. "I won't be long." No response. "We need the money." No response. "You in there?" Nothing. "Well I'll see you soon."

"Take care." He almost didn't hear it. Tiny little voice, cracked from lack of use.

"You too."

He catches up with as much gossip as he possibly can while waiting for something suitable to get him across the channel. He goes down to the docks every day until he can barter a ride across the channel with a fisher man and sets about making more money with one job than he's made in years.

He's away for six weeks, tracking the vampires through the south of France, getting close and missing them. Tracking them. Losing them. It's frustrating as hell but he finds himself enjoying it anyway. Hunting, proper hunting, using all his skills, all his knowledge, his contacts, making new contacts… He may not have chose this life but he's good at it.

He has the nest pegged as eight strong within two weeks and by three he knows there's three female, five male. He has a picture of the girl that he needs to kill in his pocket. Finds himself looking at it nearly every day until he closes his eyes and can see it. He stays in farm sheds, in game keepers huts, with a couple of hunters every time he gets the chance. It's basic. Food from wherever he can charm it out of people when he has to. He lives off the land as much as he can. Doesn't want to give himself away.

The vampire's twig that there's a hunter on them, start moving erratically, like they're trying to shake a tail and he knows he's close and he needs to be in case they give up running and go to ground.

He catches up with them at a farm. They chose to fight. He choses a machete and takes the heads one by one until there's nothing on the ground but spasming corpses and blood. Until he's on his knees with the effort and his blade is like a tonne weight in his hand.

He collects the heads, rings the bloke to come and get them. He's not going anywhere with a bag of Vampire heads.

The man cries as he touches his daughters face then throws it into a fire that he starts for the occasion and he gets a holdall of money. No cheque. No bank transfer. Cold hard cash. And a thank you from the man for killing his daughter before she could kill anyone else. For killing the monster.

He sleeps at the farm for two days. Exhaustion catching him up. He wakes to Cheryl on the phone asking if this time he's got the job done and he can home.

Six weeks. He'd never wanted to be away that long.

He uses a bit of the money to make his trip back easier, more comfortable but he's still careful, uses another fisherman to get back to England. Jacks himself a nice car for the longest bit of the trip back to Quinn's and hopes that what Cheryl and Walker had told him is right. That everyone is fine. That there's been no trouble.

He dumps the car in a wood, eight miles short and walks the rest of the way. A few miles is nothing. He cuts through farm land then up onto the road careful to miss the perimeter which Walker has moved in his absence.

He throws his things in the living room just before Cheryl rushes up and hugs him, knocking him back a couple of steps.

"Are you okay?" She asks kissing him on the cheek. "I missed you."

"Missed you too." More now he's seen her.

"Where's Walker?" He asks looking around the room. Steven's not where he left him either.

"Sparing with Ste… He was bored so Walker offered to teach him how to fight. They'll be down the bottom garden."

He goes as he's directed following the path until he reaches a ha-ha wall, he sits down, legs dangling over the side.

Steven's different.

He has more weight to him, still underweight but better much better, the sparks back, he can see it in his movements, in his face, in his eyes. There's bags under them, he wonders how much sleep he's managing to get?

As he watches he realises that Steven can actually fight, that he can hold his own. It's not full intensity but it's a strong enough fight for him to be impressed. His movement is good, he's solid on his feet…

He watches them trade blow after blow, all pulled but still making contact. There's no point in sparing if there's no contact, nothing to learn. He frowns with concern when he sees Walker knock Steven's feet out from under him and pins him to the grass with an elbow across his chest, Steven still looks like he'd break at the slightest breeze, Walker's being careful with him but not that careful, not as careful as he should be. He waits for Steven to tap out but he doesn't, he struggles against Walkers weight, gripping his legs around Walkers waist going limp for a split second then springs up and knocking Walker back, then catching him with a well-aimed elbow to the jaw. He hears Walker cackle as he rolls back to his feet, finger on his jaw. He gives Steven time to get back, time that wouldn't be allowed in a proper spar, in a proper fight…

"Having fun?" He asks as they circle each other. Advancing then retreating, fainting and dodging.

"Just trying to pin this sneaky little fucker down." Walker replies before jabbing at Steven who dodges. He's quick.

"Not my fault you're slow." The strength's back in his voice. Steven steps in and connecting with a couple of body shots before Walker grabs his legs and pulls them. Steven lands hard on the grass and Walker pins him. Full body weight. Wrists pinned above his head. Steven tries to buck him off, pushes his pelvis up against the weight but Walker laughs.

"Got you." Walker pants.

"Yeah sure?" Steven asks smugly.

He can see him wriggling his wrists down a little but Walker firms his grip and shifts his weight.

"Not this time, you're strong for the size of you but I don't think you've got enough... Give in?" Walker asks.

"Nope." Steven shifts a bit more, tries to find some leverage but Walkers far heavier than him.

"Know when you're beaten." He states anything to stop them rolling around the grass, anything to get Walker out from between Steven's thighs. He doesn't want to identify the knot in his stomach. He knows what it is but he's not. He refuses to be.

"Only losers say that." Walker and Steven say at the same time. Laughing and struggling against each other again.

"I tap." Steven states. "You're too fat to shift."

"You say the nicest things sweetheart." Walker replies pushing himself off Steven and sitting on the grass. "Have a profitable trip?"

"Eight grand."

"Fuck you're rich."

"I knackered now." Steven says still lying flat on the grass.

"Not up for a run then?"

"No way."

"Fine I'll go on my own. Tell Cheryl I've gone on the long loop…"

"And you'll be back for dinner. I know the drill." Steven finishes for him.

Walker jogs off towards the bottom gate.

Steven groans as he gets to his feet and stretches his arms out.

"Didn't know you could fight." He states. Although he didn't know he couldn't. He had assumed he couldn't.

Steven shrugs.

He talks to Walker but not to him. It shouldn't bother him. Walkers been here while he hasn't but he wants him to talk to him.

"You seem better."

Steven walks up towards him.

"I had a lot to get my head around, sorry if that upset you."

"It didn't upset me." He hadn't liked it, he wanted to see what he's seeing now…

"Good fine." Steven looks at him. "I'm going in." Steven walks away up to the house glancing back over his shoulder like he thought that he was going to stop him…

Steven's sat at the window when he goes in.

"I'll nip down and get something special. Celebrate you're home coming." Cheryl says.

He hands her a hundred pounds and tells her to get something that she wants.

"Anything for you love?"

Steven shakes his head.

"Won't be long."

She doesn't seem fazed by Steven being back by the window. He wonders if he still sits there. Maybe the change in him isn't so pronounced when he's inside.

"What can you see out there?" He asks sitting on the sofa. "Can't change that much."

"Nice to have a cage with a view." Steven replies.

"This isn't a cage."

"I'm still being kept here."

"You can leave if you want. No one is stopping you."

Steven snorts in disbelief.

"What are you going to do to me?"

"Do to you?" He gets a sinking feeling.

"Well Cheryl and Simon have been dead nice, too nice, you're obviously the boss, they can't do ought without you. You're the one that decides what happens to me. So what the price?"

He frowns at the tone.

"No price."

"No one does something like this without wanting something." He sounds like it's a lesson he's learned the hard way.

"You saved my life." He shrugs. "One good turn…"

"When I snapped Delilah's neck? Look Mr Hunter man I snapped her neck for me not you. If she's in Hell she's not putting salt in my wounds is she? Why'd you bring me here?"

He doesn't have an answer to why yet. He's still not sure.

Steven eyes him, purses his lips and stands, there's a grace to his movement, the swing of his hips. He's not going to lie to himself he finds Steven attractive, the long lashes, long legs, pouty lips, slight frame, too slight for his taste at the moment but still…

"Might as well admit it." Steven closes in. "Hummm, why you want me..." He's hypnotic, he can't move under his gaze. He slinks closer, he knows he can't hide his desire, his body betraying him. "That what why I'm here? Want someone to fuck?"

He pushes him away, it's harder than it should be.

"I didn't get you out of there so I could fuck you." He's not that sick, he's nowhere near that twisted. He knows men and woman that would, human not demon, want this.

Steven snorts at him, looks at him through his lashes, seduction written across his face. A show, a well-worn façade that has his stomach twisting. He knew that Steven had been through the ringer, knew that he had been tortured, that being 'entertainment' as he put it would be more than a juggling act, he just hadn't thought that he'd be confronted by it.

"No need to be shy you aren't the first."

"You think I'm like that?" He demands in disgust. He would never do that to someone.

"I don't know what you're like do I? And I'd rather know what you want now."

"I don't want anything from you."

"Yeah right. Want to take me by surprise? That it? Been there done that."

"Steven. I didn't take you out of that place for any other reason that it was the right thing to do. You helped us escape... I don't want anything. I don't need anything from you. You're free to do what you want. If you want to leave no one will stop you, if you want to stay then you're welcome."

"Like I believe that. I'm not thick."

He holds his hands up in surrender.

"If you want to go then the doors right there."

"You won't stop me?"

He shakes his head.

Steven looks at him, shifts on his feet, nods then walks to the door, looks back at him then turns the knob and runs down the steps and out on the road.

He stays still until Steven's out of sight from the window then goes and shuts the door. Steven's made his choice.

"Where's Ste?" Cheryl asks as she brings the shopping in.

"He's gone."

"Gone? Gone where?"

"He thought…" He's not telling her that. "He thought that he was still a slave I told him that if he wanted to leave no one would stop him, so he left."

"What you do that for you oaf? He'll be scared out of his mind."

He doesn't think that after what he's been through Steven's scared of anything.

"You haven't seen his nightmares." Cheryl exclaims. "You walk back in here after six weeks off swanning around and undo everything me and Walker have done. Ugh! How long ago?" She already got her hand on the door.

"We keep him here against his will we're no better than the demons."

"He knows we're not like that." She insists.

"Really? I don't think he does."

"This suits you doesn't it?"

"What are you going on about?"

"Him gone, less mouths to feed, less hassle when you make us move again. And now you don't even have to decide what you're going to do with him."

"I wasn't going to do anything."

"No? No shipping him off to the mental hospital?" She scoffs at him. "People like him and me, we're good for nothing that right?"

"He's not like you." She was rescued by family not strangers. Her trust was already there. Steven's got no reason to trust them.

"He's just like me. But you've already got a house keeper so you don't need another one. You and Dad you're just the same."

"I'm nothing like him." He shouts back. He's not his father, he may hunt but he's not the old man. He's nowhere near that level of ruthlessness and cruelty.

"You're just like him." She spits. "If you can't hunt, if you can't kill then you're good for nothing. May as well be dead instead of a noose around your necks."

"I don't think that."

"Well he does."

"I'm not Dad."

"No, Dad would have put me out of my misery. Don't deny it."

He can't. Seamus would have killed her by now and called it a mercy kill. She's never going to be useful in the way Seamus would demand, she's too old to hunt, doesn't have it in her. She's too… Not weak but… She doesn't have the stomach for a fight against someone or something that isn't going to give an inch, isn't going to care about what she's been through, isn't going to stop because she asked or even begged, she's not bold enough, not strong, tough enough.

All the female hunters he knows that last have an rod of iron in their spine, they're ruthless, cold, they're resourceful and make up for their less strength by being quicker, going for the jugular sooner, finishing a fight quicker one way or the other. Chez isn't like them, she can't be like them because she doesn't want to be a hunter. Which leaves her in the hunting world but not apart of it. She knows what's going on but she can't go out and change it.

"Listen to me, just because you aren't a hunter doesn't mean that you're not useful. You make sure that there's food on the table, that the medical kits are fully stocked."

"See just a housekeeper, you can do all that yourself." She states.

He can. He has. Shit. He's not going to be able to get out of this without coming up with something better.

"You remind me what we're fighting for. You give me a reason to come back."

She goes silent and takes her hand off the door.

"I let Steven go because he wanted to go. We're not his keepers. We don't decide his life. He gets to choose."

"He's got nothing, nowhere to go…"

"I'm not keeping him here against his will."

Walker shrugs Steven leaving off with talk of a job he's been researching and wants the details double checked, make sure that he's covered every angle. The dent in his confidence won't do much harm, it'll make him more careful.

The heavens open an hour after dinner which is fucking typical and now he can't help but wonder where Steven is, what's happening to him…

He lights the fire and grabs his laptop to check his emails to see if there are any hot spots of activity worth going after.

Two days later he knows where they're going and he's packed up waiting for Cheryl to get her arse in gear and her stuff in the car. Walkers gone to do a job in Plymouth then on to London for a bit to help out a couple of hunters trying to get a hold on a lower level that's taking out civilians at a rate of knots.

He can feel someone watching him from behind the hedge in the front garden, catches the faintest glimpse but it's enough to know who it is. It's a relief, knowing where he is, one less thing off his conscience.

"You coming?" He calls. "Haven't got all day."

"You didn't look for me." Steven says stepping out and around. Clothes stained with mud. Bags under his eyes. Pale.

"Told you, you're with us because you chose to be not because you think you owe me anything. I don't keep slaves. I don't want one. We're heading out, are you coming?"

Steven nods.

"Then go and get your stuff. Your bags on the bedroom floor, we were leaving it for you in case you came back to the house and we were gone." Steven stays where he is. "Hurry up or you'll end up sitting on one of Cheryl's bags for the entire drive."

He sighs and leans back on the car and wonders just what he's let himself in for.


End file.
